


Let Myself See

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Hell, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's back from Hell. He knows this. But there are moments, still, when he's not sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Myself See

The sky is this weird shade of blue, deep and purple and grey all at once. It's standing up to the moon and shouting back, and it makes my eyes hurt just to look at it.

You'd think that I'd be used to it by now, would've gotten used to colors again, all of them running around together side by side. Not just red and black and white strung together like barbed wire, like string that cuts your flesh just by looking.

I think green's the weirdest one, still. Any kind of green, really, but especially that like heavy shade of fresh-cut grass. That one still freaks me out a little. Kind of crawls up inside my eyes and kicks out against my skull.

Luckily, I spend most of my time staring at asphalt. Concrete. Dirt.

We were in a park last week, the last time the green got to me. Well, not really in a park so much as walking by one, and this little kid shot past us and like dove into the swing set, which was kinda funny, kicked his feet up and was fucking airborne right away. And it made me smile, you know, reminded me of the time Sammy busted his lip when we were doing kamikaze runs off some playground slide when he was little. So I turned to rag him about it--his busted lip, his angry tears, his fist on my chin when I tried to help him up--when the green just swallowed me in just one gulp and I couldn't breathe and I couldn't move and next thing I know Sam's picking me up off the sidewalk, brushing off my shoulders and clucking and like--

"What was that?" I said, apparently out loud, because he looked at me, wavering, his forehead knotting.

"You tell me," he said, kinda holding me by the arm. Shaking me, a little. He looked scared. Confused. And I could see myself in his eye and I looked scared, too.

So I ducked out of his grasp and smacked him on the head and kept walking. Didn't answer his question.

He didn't ask it again. Just came loping up behind me after a minute. Started chattering about whatever the fuck we were supposed to be doing and that was that. Which was fine. That's our way, most of the time. Works pretty good.

Anyway, I knew what it was.

It's happened a few times, since I've been back.

The first time, it was early in the morning. We'd just pulled in to somewhere, me strung out from driving all night and Sammy grouchy as hell cause he hadn't been able to sleep in the car. He was in the shower, I was all nice and clean and went over to the window to pull the shade, so we could sleep while everyone else was just getting up. I took one last look at the car, just to reassure myself that she was still there, reached for the cord and that's when the fucking sunrise grabbed me, the purple gagged me, the grey stabbing through my skull, the orange pushing razors into my chest and fuck did it hurt and I fell down, I guess. Woke up on the floor with my mouth full of blood and my ears filled with screaming, you know, and for that split second before I opened my eyes I was right back there, like I'd never left, and it was--

It was fucking terrifying.

Then my eyes snapped open and I got an eyeful of this really disgusting carpet and I knew that I was back. Managed to get my shit together before Sam staggered out; hell, he probably wouldn't have noticed anyway. He was asleep before he hit the bed.

I took another shower, turned the water all the way up, as high as it would go. It took me a long time to stop shaking.

So that sucked. That was the first time.

But hey, I figured that I was still walkin.' Or walkin' again, depending on your perspective. So whatever. I knew I could deal if it happened again.

The next time, that was a few weeks ago. She was sucking fumes and Sam needed coffee so I pulled over at some Shell or something, just off the interstate. I had her open and was filling her tank, breathing in the gas fumes and digging the way they made my head spin, a little. Then this ugly blue minivan slid into the bay beside me and I stared at it for a second because the paint job was so freakin' bad and it was such a weird color, like blue sky at night but darker and deeper, somehow, and I kind of fell into it, into the blue. My legs folded like a card table, I went over and down and this time it was so fast I didn't pass out or anything, not really, just got a glimpse of the red the black the white falling towards me, reaching for me, shrieking my name, before I got up, brushed off the dirt. Sam came out just as I was closing her cap and I made sure he didn’t see that anything was wrong.

That one wasn't so bad.

But the green last week? It freaked me out--ok, it made me really goddamn nervous. Felt different, somehow. It seemed like it sucked me in deeper, faster, than the others.

And Sam was there. Sammy got to see it, this time.

But he hasn't asked me about it. Boy's not as stupid as he looks sometimes.

But now--now this sky is getting under my skin, a little, and I can't figure out why, exactly. Not like I haven't fucking stared at the night sky since I've been back. Don't know what's so special about this one, all silver and bright and shiny poking through the black. I'm trying not to think about it too hard. Don't want to give those parts of me, of my brain or soul or whatever, any ideas. Any fresh ammunition.

So.

Sammy is snoring, which is hilarious. He snores like a fucking cartoon panda when he sleeps sitting up like this, though he'd totally deny it. You can like see the bubble letter ZZZs hanging above his head. And I bet he's drooling, too.

It used to annoy the shit out of me, this freaking snoring routine. I could take it for like maybe five minutes before I'd have to lean over and smack him so he would shut the hell up and let me drive in peace. And he'd get pissed and we'd yell at each other for awhile until he got bored and then he'd go back to sleep, start panda-ing again, then I'd hit him and the whole thing would start all over.

I think the record was like five times in one night before he got a fucking clue and made me pull over so he could stretch out in the backseat. Much better. Snores way less that way.

Now, though. Now I kinda like being able to see him, to hear him even when he's Hanna Barbera-ing like this. It's hardly a noise at all, anymore. Much much quieter than Hell.

Which is, you know, all relative, I guess.

I don't even have the radio on, right now. Just the wind and Sam's sawing and it's nice. Almost makes me forget about the weird sky, about this little voice in the back of my head that's freaking the fuck out about it, for some reason.

Whatever. I'm fine.

It's almost 2 AM, so it's only gonna get darker out here. The moon's only gonna get shinier, more silverly and shit, and ok, I'd better stop thinkin' about that.

We're gonna be stopping in a few hours, at this little motel I remember outside of Bluefield. By the time we get there, I'll be beat and Sam'll need a chance to mope around and drink coffee and stare at me or whatever. So. It'll be awesome.

This place had pretty good coffee, last time I was here. But that's been a while now.

I turn her around a curve and the land opens up around us, hills and valleys and shit and all of a sudden the stars and the moon fucking stab me in the eye, all silver and shiny and bright, grey and gold and no no I'm gonna crash the damn car if I don't--twist the wheel out of instinct, rumble over gravel or dirt or something and turn the key, and I'm flying out, bolting through grass and leaves and tripping, turning over rocks and the stars and the moon are chasing me, grab me, shove the grey and gold into my face and slam me into the ground, onto my knees and I take a breath and it comes back sulfur and steel and blood and oh, god, I'm not with Sam anymore, am I?

I refuse to open my eyes. I won't. If I don't see it, it's not real, it's not and I won't do it I won't--

But I can't stop my ears from hearin', and oh Christ it's loud, it's loud and how did I forget how loud it was here? I can feel my eardrums pop, feel the blood sliding over my jaw, down my throat, and over my chest and I hear myself say, low and steady and so calm no not calm dead and flat and not me is me, I say:

"Well."

That's all I say, all I have to, and I don't remember opening my eyes, I know I didn't want to, but they are and I can see and it's that kid from the park in front of me, on the rack, and he's crying already and I haven't even touched him and I know I don't have to, because I look like a fucking rag doll flayed and stitched and sewn by a blind man, a man who doesn't care what I used to look like, only needs me to be standing, whole, whole enough to hold the razor in my hand.

The kid looks me in the face and that's not wise, for either of us, cause he gets a real good look at me and I see that he has Sammy's eyes, soft and brown and sad, and I go right for them with the blade, no trade no deal no breath and the first one fills his face with blood and the second pops out like a walnut and the red the black the white they swirl around me, twist around my arms like rope, like snakes, and they bite the kid, sting him over and over but they leave his throat intact, leave it almost for last so I can hear him scream and I'm so happy in the red the white the black because I've missed them, missed who I was here so simple so clear missed who I was without Sam and I will never admit that never say that never think that again so I enjoy it now, let the kid's gore run over my skin and his shredded voice sound in my ears and I hear myself say:

"Well."

**

I'm shaking, my mouth is full of dirt and I'm lost and Sam is the one shaking me, isn't he?

Not ready to open my eyes, not yet. The red the black the white are still here with me, dripping behind my eyelids and I'm not ready to let them go again, not yet. 

Five more minutes.

"Dean!" Sammy is barking, shakes me harder, and I can feel his fingernails digging into my shoulders, feel him turning me up and over into his lap.

"Dean!" he says again, and his fingers are on my chest. "Goddamn it, wake up!"

I am awake. Dumbass. Just not ready to deal with you, yet. The red the black the white are much easier. Hell was easier than you, after a while.

Idiot.

I can feel his body shaking and his voice is wavering and I know that sound, know that turn.

His hands are on my neck and the red the black the white are whispering in my ears, letting me hear the kid scream again, and he yanks my head up and I feel his breath on my cheek and it's loud, even louder than the kid shrieking, and I open my eyes. Lose the red the black the white but.

Get Sam back.

I'm panting, trembling, all of a sudden, like I've had my head underwater too long. He holds my face in his hands, stares at me in the dark and I have to close my eyes again because it's too much, I can see too much. I kind of slump over, my body kind of gives out, a little, and my eyes hurt, feel hot and swollen like I've been crying but there aren't any tears. My face isn't wet.

"Dean," Sammy says. Soothing. "It's ok. Just relax for a second. Breathe."

He shifts and my head ends up in his lap and I can't move. Just need to be still now.

Breathe in and out. Smell Sam. The grass. The damp. No sulphur. No blood. Feel the silence press in on my ears. Sam's heart beating. My shoulder dug into the ground and I just need to know that he's here, that I'm not there, and I raise my arm, stretch it up and back, and he reaches for me, lets me grab his elbow. I'm holding on to him like I'm on a roller coaster and I'm shaking, Sammy, I'm so fucking scared of what I am what I was of you and me and you and I'm cold, so cold my teeth are chattering and he swoops down, pulls me up, wraps his arms around me. I'm leaning into him, half in his lap, half sprawled out in the grass and I push my face into his chest, wind my fists into his shirt, let myself rattle against him.

He hugs me to him, holds on. I feel his chin pressed into my hair. His breathing, fast and scared. But he's trying to calm down.

We don’t say anything, for a while. Just sit there in the damp and breathe, for a while.

He kisses my head, tightens his grip, and I realize how relieved I am, in a way. How nice it is to have him do the holding, to let him be the one hanging on to me, for once.

But I don’t say that. Don’t tell him that. Just lie there. Just stay still. Listen to his heart pound under my ear, steady and safe and sure.

His hands on me, like this. My eyes shut and shut and dark. His breath in my ear. His voice.

“Dean,” he says again, and this time it’s soft and warm. Certain, in a way that I don’t remember feeling, don’t remember being, for a really long time. 

“C’mon,” he says, and shifts, lifts me up out of the grass, out of the mud, but I don’t open my eyes. Not yet. Just let him guide me, tug me along, even as I’m turned into him, afraid to let my face get too far from his chest, for some reason. Afraid to let go.

Afraid he’ll let go of me, again.

But he doesn’t.

I can feel the ground changing under my feet, slick to stone to gravel, to asphalt, and I hear the door swing open, let him fold me inside, and now he has to take his hands away, of course, but I can’t help but protest, a little, say something I can’t understand, but he does, I guess. Because I can feel him lean back in, touch my shoulder, my back. 

“S’ok,” he says over my head. “S’ok. It’s ok, I promise. It’s ok.”

And that’s enough. I relax, lean back into the seat, feel the door close.

Hear him get in, feel him sit down, hear her turn over for him.

Good girl.

I fall asleep, I guess, my eyes screwed tight, because the next thing I know, his hands are on me again. He’s pulling me out, and I’m more like dead weight than anything else, and it sucks for him but I can’t help it. Can’t help him.

Hear the door slam, hear another door open, a key in a lock, and then we’re inside, I know, because the sound changes. The air feels different. He has to let me go, a little, to get the door closed, and I kind of sway, feel my knees start to give, or something, and he squeezes. Holds me tight. Tighter, so I don’t fall.

Pulls off my jacket. Pushes me down until I’m sitting on a bed, it feels like. Gets my boots off and I fall back, let myself fall flat and jesus, I’m cold. So goddamn cold, all of a sudden, without him touching me, and I start to shake, shoulders and hips and legs, everything. Shaking.

He makes a noise I can’t see and then he’s beside me, lying next to me. Wraps his arms around my body and it’s like a miracle, or something, because I stop. Shaking. 

I get still. Really sad and still. Just lean back and let him carry the weight.

I feel his hand on my face like I’m made of eggshells, or something, this feathery touch that runs across my cheeks, slides over my eyelids, falls down my nose, and he then catches my lips for a second, his fingers just resting there, like he’s not sure what to do, exactly. And my mouth opens automatically, without me even noticing, and he falls in, the tips of his fingers against my teeth and I kiss him, like that, close my lips around him and hang on. 

He chokes, like he did when he was little and trying to be tough or something, trying to pretend he wasn’t hurt. And the bed creaks, folds, as he leans down. Slides his finger from my teeth and kisses me instead.

Feathery, like before. Kind of wispy and gentle. Careful. But certain.

I refuse to open my eyes. I won't. If I do, it won’t be real, and it is. It is. He is.

I kind of turn, get my hand free so I can touch him, can press my fingers to his neck and feel his pulse. Feel his blood running fast and hot under my hand because he’s alive. And so am I.

He make a little sound, soft, and tugs me closer. Kisses me a little harder, now, but still slow. Deliberate, like I’m a china cup he’s afraid to chip.

And his mouth, his hands, and him: they ground me. 

Make me realize, finally: I’m here.

I’m not there. Not anymore.

And whatever happened there didn’t happen here. Not with him.

And so it’s ok. It’s really ok, here.

I lift my head, push my mouth up, and kiss him back. Knock my tongue into his and shiver.

He strokes my face, slips a hand under my shirt and his hand is like a brand there, his fingers hot irons in my skin.

Slow and steady, we kiss. Steady and slow. Like Sammy, I guess. 

I’m more sure of him than anything. 

Even in Hell, even there, when the red the black the white won me, had me, took me, it was Sammy that I held on to. That I tried to. That I wanted.

And here I am, again. And here he is, now. Wanting me, too.

I say his name and he sits up a little. Feel the bed shift, feel him looking down at me.

Open my eyes and see him. See him not disappear. See him stay. 

He reaches down and runs his fingers over my shirt, down my chest. Smiles into my eyes.

“Welcome home,” he says. 

And normally, I would roll my eyes and huff and make a big show of what a dork he is. And I probably will, tomorrow.

But now, I just grin and pull him back to me. Open my mouth to match my eyes. 

Let myself see.


End file.
